


Waiting for the Flash

by orphan_account



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F, Family Drama, Hospitals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-16
Updated: 2012-05-16
Packaged: 2017-11-12 21:30:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/495846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Okay, here is my collective to response to many prompts for Closet Smut after we all enjoyed a very Swan Queeny finale. It was particularly tricky to set the mood given the situation, so let me know if it works or not? NB: I have played around with the dialogue a bit, but tried to stay as faithful to one of the show’s best scenes as far as possible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waiting for the Flash

“He’s stable for now,” Dr. Whale confirms as Regina runs into the room. “We need to run a battery of tests, and it’s going to take some time.”    
  
  
“Do whatever it takes,” Regina orders, her hands actually trembling as she looks at Henry in the bed.    
  
  
“You did this,” Emma growls, launching herself at Regina. There’s no time to brace, Emma’s momentum is too strong to pull away from, and so Regina finds herself being shoved bodily into a… supply closet?    
  
  
Which is nothing compared to the indignity (and pain) of hitting a metal shelving unit face first. Oh, this is bad. Something is very, very wrong for this crazy woman to be throwing Regina around, for Henry to be unconscious in a hospital bed. Regina knows what the end of this thought is, but she wills her mind not to complete it, not to make the logical assumption.    
  
  
“What the hell are you doing?” She yells, because Emma is on her again, like a wild animal almost. A twist, a spin and Regina’s back makes a bruising impact with some kind of metal locker. It squeezes the air from her lungs on impact. “Stop this!” She manages to yell, one deep breath later. “My son!”    
  
  
But Emma has one hand pinning her arm and a forearm dangerously close to Regina’s throat.    
  
  
“He’s sick because of you!” Emma yells, panting from the exertion. “That apple turnover you gave me, he ate it!”    
  
  
“What?” Regina breathes. There it is, the logical assumption. She can’t not think it any longer. “It was meant for you!” She protests, knowing that it changes nothing, that the damage is already done.    
  
  
“It’s true, isn’t it?” Emma asks, her voice hoarse now. Regina can’t stand to look at her, and yet can’t tear her eyes away. Emma’s arm slips lower on Regina’s chest, the pressure uncomfortable even as Regina tenses to throw her off.    
  
  
“What are you talking about?” Regina asks, reaching for her familiar mask of denial and finding—to her horror—that her face won’t cooperate. She can see the way that Emma is reading the truth in her expression. The lie is so easy, so familiar, but the thought of losing Henry pushes it off Regina’s tongue; she has no choice, she can’t tell this lie again.    
  
  
“It’s true, isn’t it?” Emma presses, and Regina can feel the blood rushing to the surface, the bruises forming to match the one over her heart.    
  
  
“Yes,” she says, crumbling her empire and her protection in one little word. Strange, that it should be so simple, in the end.    
  
  
“Holy shit,” Emma exclaims, her eyes wide and terrified now. The anger is still there, just below the boil, and Regina knows she should use this moment of shock for leverage, to get out of this grip but she can’t. “No way. No fucking way,” Emma whines, her grip slackening for just a moment. “Wake him up!” She shouts suddenly.    
  
  
“I can’t,” Regina yells back, feeling anger lash out like an old friend. No more control, no more Mayor, just being who she truly is in front of Emma for the first time. It would be liberating, if her heart weren’t breaking at the same time.    
  
  
“Why not?” Emma is pleading now, her love for Henry so obvious that Regina wants to throw up. This is how she loses her son. “You have magic, don’t you?” Emma adds that in almost a whisper, like she can’t believe she’s saying them at all.    
  
  
“None left,” is all Regina manages to choke out, because it’s as hard to breathe right now as it is to think. That’s when Emma lets go, for a moment, and Regina finds herself falling to the floor. It’s like she’s boneless, not even the instinct to break her fall kicks in, and she sits in a crumpled heap until those strong hands are on her again, pulling her back to standing with newfound determination.    
  
  
“Leave me alone,” she sobs, self-pity taking over.    
  
  
“Not a chance,” Emma says. “We’re going to… break this. Or undo this. Or we’ll find you some new magic. But you are going to save that kid.”    
  
  
“I don’t know how,” Regina whines, her lip trembling as she fights back another wave of tears. She’s about to say something else, maybe, she doesn’t know, when Emma kisses her.    
  
  
It’s fast and hard and really not much more than a fleeting second of lips on lips, but it stuns Regina out of her sorry state.    
  
  
“What the fuck are you doing?” She demands, relishing how the curse words of this world trip so easily off her tongue.    
  
  
“Kisses,” Emma gasps. “Kisses break curses, right?” She moves in again, and this time Regina can taste the desperation, along with the faint traces of coffee and cinnamon. Emma’s kissing Regina like she’s trying to breathe life back into her, like that will somehow cure Henry, like it will do anything at all.    
  
  
And hell, this is really not the time for her own stupid body to be betraying Regina like this. Because instead of shoving Emma away, her traitorous hands are clutching at red leather and blonde hair, pulling her closer until there’s no way left to get any closer, their bodies pressed together as fiercely as their mouths.    
  
  
“Please,” Emma murmurs before she’s kissing Regina again, her tongue demanding, forceful.    
  
  
“Please,” Regina hears herself saying it back, the world mumbled against Emma’s lips. There are tears running down both of their faces, making skin taste like salt when the kisses get wilder. Emma’s rough kisses are on Regina’s throat now, leaving her to close her eyes and tip her head back too hard, enough to make it hurt when her skull hits metal.    
  
  
She needs it to hurt. The moan of pain prompts Emma to drag her teeth over Regina’s jugular and just for a moment—half a moment—Regina wonders if this is how she’ll die. But Emma’s mouth is hot and insistent and the tingling of Regina’s skin is spreading through her body at an alarming rate. There is no ignoring the ache between her legs, every bit as insistent as the very different ache in her chest.    
  
  
It’s so easy to stop thinking then, as Emma’s thigh insinuates itself between Regina’s own. The way Regina grinds herself against it, hard and desperate, makes her feel enough to stop thinking. Their hands are in constant motion, tugging at clothing and smacking against each other in the fumbling, until just enough fabric is moved for skin on skin contact. Regina feels the warm weight of Emma’s breast in her hand and squeezes desperately, crying out while Emma’s fingers are twisting through cotton and lace, Regina’s nipple hardening at her rough touch.    
  
  
They have to be quick.    
  
  
“We shouldn’t,” Emma gasps, as Regina fumbles with the buttons of Emma’s jeans. Just enough for Regina to slip her hand inside, it doesn’t matter that the material is too tight against the back of her hand, that she can hardly feel her fingers as she pushes Emma’s thong aside, just enough.    
  
  
“No,” Regina agrees. “We shouldn’t. Oh fuck, you’re wet,” she adds, not meaning to lend voice to thought but so far out of control that she can’t bring herself to care. Emma retaliates by pushing her thigh harder against Regina, grabbing her hips to control the depth of her movement.    
  
  
“Make it,” Emma gasps. “Make it…” Regina doesn’t know if she wants to say make it stop or make it hurt, because either of those are what Regina wants for herself in this moment. She works her fingers harder, two of them pressing in hard strokes over Emma’s clit, until Emma’s trembling against her, words lost to the anguished little scream that she muffles against the shoulder of Regina’s half-removed blazer.    
  
  
Regina allows herself then to rub harder, once, twice, and a third time until a quick and shocking orgasm runs through her. She bites the leather of Emma’s jacket to suppress her own cry, partly not to give Emma the satisfaction, partly because of the dull awareness of Henry and the medical staff on the other side of the door.    
  
  
They push away from each other a long moment later, breathing heavily. Regina staggers towards the opposite corner, her legs unsteady and a dull throb between her thighs. She feels vaguely satisfied, but not sated. If the stakes weren’t so high she might even instigate another round—strip Emma Swan naked and fuck her brains out on the cool tile floor.    
  
  
But they can’t.    
  
  
Regina wipes her hand unceremoniously on the inside of her blazer. She’ll burn it later, or maybe there’ll be a handy stake in the town square to take care of that for her. She licks her lips, tasting the sharp metallic burn of adrenalin in the back of her throat. This might be the end—it probably is the end—but she’s not out yet.    
  
  
“You really don’t have magic?” Emma asks, her back still turned to Regina. Emma’s leaning heavily against the shelves, her blonde hair messy and her jeans still undone.    
  
  
“No,” Regina repeats, leaning back against the shelves that they dislodged earlier. “I told you, that was the last of it. It was supposed to put you to sleep,” she snaps.    
  
  
“What’s it going to do to him?” Emma turns around now, fastening her jeans but her horrified expression is aimed at Regina.    
  
  
“I don’t know,” Regina admits, sadness engulfing her again as she says the words. She’s done the worst thing of all, without even intending to. If she thought she understood self-loathing before, if she thought she knew how it felt to be disgusted by her own actions, she could not have been more pathetically, tragically wrong. “Magic,” she explains, watching Emma flinch at the world. “Here…is unpredictable.”    
  
  
“So he could…” Emma asks in horror.    
  
  
“Yes,” Regina snaps again, unable to think the word let alone hear it. Emma makes a noise somewhere between a sob and a sad, choking little laugh.    
  
  
“So what do we do?” Emma asks, her voice tiny, making her sound so much younger than she looks. Regina looks at Emma in amazement, the unfamiliar pull of an alliance reacting somewhere inside her. This plural, this not-Regina-alone sensation is startling, and she has no idea what to do with it. She paces briefly, trying to find something useful to say.    
  
  
“We need help,” Regina concedes, unable to find an alternative. She knows, on a gut level so strong she could be sick, that it’s wrong to trust her one-time sparring partner, but it’s too important to do without him. “There’s one other person in this town who knows about… this,” Regina says reluctantly. She’ll have no secrets left by dawn, and that’s sickening after decades of keeping them so resolutely. “Who knows about magic,” she clarifies, for Emma’s benefit. If they talk about plans and other people, they don’t have to admit what just happened between them.    
  
  
“Mr. Gold,” Emma blurts as she puts the pieces together. Regina’s relieved in that moment to know that a worthy adversary might just make for a reliable ally, no matter how strange it feels to have one at all.    
  
  
“Actually,” Regina corrects, the surge of malevolence unable to be held back. She needs to shock just a little, cause a little more reaction so she’s not the one reeling. “He goes by Rumpelstiltskin.”


End file.
